


and the wind got knocked out of my lungs.

by venkyre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Incomplete, Masturbation, THIS IS MY FIRST FIC AND IT SUCKS, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venkyre/pseuds/venkyre
Summary: So here she was. Rose Weasley. Crouched underneath the bench of the bloody boy’s locker room watching her childhood tormentor jack off to his heart’s content.Fantastic.





	and the wind got knocked out of my lungs.

And the wind got knocked out of my lungs,  
and I think a part of me died along with you.

 

She told herself to stay away from him. The task was set simply, a footlong away from him at all times. No words to be spoken, no averted gazes, not even a breath towards his general direction. 

Just mind her work, curled up upon the benches of the stadium, eyes occasionally glancing at the empty quidditch pitch ever so slightly. Her nose was flushed a dark red, and she eternally chastised herself for not bringing a scarf. Her mind briefly flitted towards the memory of Albus’s locker, filled with the muggle sweatshirts she adored so very much. Figuring that it was an easier trip to the locker rooms than going back to her dorm, she tugged at her skirt, neatly arranging her books before setting them at the edge of the bench before setting off to the boy’s slytherin locker rooms, crisp winter air biting at her bones.

The door clicked upwards with a slight twinge of the handle, the Alohomora spell easily opening the latch. The season was far from over, every student finding themselves crouched over a book instead of a broom. It was to be an easy trip, in and out. 

But of course, things don’t exactly always go the way she wants them to. 

She headed over to the metal locker with her best friend’s script hastily scribbled onto the top, twisting the lock because the man kept the same password for about every damn thing. Before she could click it open, the shower went off.

Someone’s here.

Barely concealing a squeak, she crouched underneath the benches, hands clasped at her mouth as she tried her best to be quiet. This was wonderful. She could already hear the jeers of her classmates at her supposed vandalization or break in of the Slytherin locker room. And a detention to stain her record. How could she be so stupid?

Caught in her own self loathing, she barely recognized the person she was stuck with in the locker rooms. Hazel eyes glanced up and she felt herself choke on her own saliva, jumbled inner monologue of self hate clogging at her throat.

Scorpius fucking Malfoy. 

It was fine, Getting detention and being teased at? It was fine, totally fine. But being locked up with the man who ridiculed her own blood for years? Sadistic. The two of them had always had this angered tension, constantly needing to surpass each other. Constantly needing to see each other fail, or scarred with a curse. She would strangle him the muggle way, teach him that even the people he sought out to hate could kill filth like him. The rivalry made sense. Egotistical Pureblood Slytherin Quidditch Captain against Halfblood Gryffindor Bookworm. She spent years of his torment, always inflicted with his sharp tongue, shaming her for shaming the blood of Weasely with her own birth. If she wasn’t born, her family would still be a pureblood family. A family of status, of some wealth. She already knew she wasn’t enough, not worthy to bear her name, but she would be damned if he was the one to tell her that. 

But really, if honesty truly was the best policy? It all really wasn’t just disgust. Their was the lingering of glances. The moments he’d step a bit too closely and let his breath rattle along her collarbones as he spat into her ear, or when he’d bump against her in the corridors. 

She was looking far too into it. He was a pureblood, she was not. 

Any kind of, attraction was out of the question. 

He had boxers around his hips, and a hand carelessly tousling his wet hair. It always fell into his forehead, strands of white framing a set of silver eyes and the sharp planes of his jaw. She thinks that this is the first time she’s seen him without a scowl plastered onto his face.

And if she’s being honest, she kinda’ likes it. 

He’s muttering something that she can’t exactly pick out, until his hands are shoved down his boxers and he swallows roughly, features skewing up as he roughly twists his hands in his boxers, a stuttered breath escaping him.

Oh.

So here she was. Rose Weasley. Crouched underneath the bench of the bloody boy’s locker room watching her childhood tormentor jack off to his heart’s content.

Fantastic.

She figured it was best to just curl into a ball and mute her ears and try not to ruin the moment. Or maybe she’d find a way to film it so she could sell it to all the fangirl’s and finally buy herself the limited edition version of Hogwarts ; A History. Now that, was a good idea. She could finally harass him too on being unable to find someone to find his very apparent needs the next time he tried to shoot another remark at her. Yeah, that would work. Great idea. And before she could plan her next move she hears it.

“Rose.” It escapes his lips almost weakly, as if her name causes him pain. For a moment she thinks he caught her, but her throat goes dry as she realizes that he’s still panting against the wall of the shower, hot water stinging his flushed skin as his hands are still loosely clasped around his shaft, muffled moans intermingled with rough breaths coming from him.

He’s jacking off to her. All this time. Well, for some of it. It wasn’t genuine disgust. 

He’s attracted to her. A dirty blooded, obnoxious gryffindor, like her.

She’s fucked.

 

In the passing weeks, she really did try to discard the event of the locker rooms.

But she really just, couldn’t.

Every time her chocolate eyes would catch sight of him, he’d distort his face into the aggravated snarl he always directed upon her. Yet now, the slight clench of his jaw reminded her of his twisted jawbones as he let out muffled cries of her name, chest heaving, with his lean throat bared and desperately constricting for more oxygen. His silver eyes squeezing shut desperately as he let his hips stutter into his hands, breathless gasps of pleasure resounding around the plastered walls along with the curve of his hips and -

Stop.

The female now could feel his assertive gaze on her, always cocking her head around to catch him by surprise, his eyes redirecting themselves and playing it off as if he didn’t have his eyes on her at all. He wanted her, that factor was obvious. And she, had wanted him.

Rose always got what she wanted. A plan had been set, along with an execution date.

// Incomplete.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, and it was actually written over to OC's, but it fit with this pairing fairly well. I'll be posting actually complete things shortly, though. (':


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